“But if I came down with an entourage, Phillip would have gotten wind of it really early on. Our plan would be shot to hell, and a war would have already started. Phillip hasn’t been physically in Halo too long, but his guys have been stationed here since after the bomb. It took us a while to infiltrate them and get eyes near the prize. Once we had someone firmly in place, I came down to be more aggressive with the plan.”
He finishes typing something into his phone, and he spins around, leaning back to study me.
“You hate Sarah too?” I ask him curiously.
He shakes his head. “She shouldn’t have lied to Jude, but I don’t have beef with her. I’m the one she calls when she wants to keep tabs on the club. But I never give her detailed information—only broad spectrum things.”
He crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against the dresser.
“Do the other guys know that?”
He shakes his head slowly. “You wanted a secret, so show me what you do with that one.”
He pushes away from the dresser, and I suck in a breath when he tugs his shirt over his head. Hard lines of muscle greet me. Several mostly-subtle scars line his chest and abs, but when he turns around to put his back to me, the scars stop being subtle and scream suffering.
Large, angry red and white scars are bubbled across his back in long swipes.
He was mercilessly whipped.
He was repeatedly cut.
He was brutally tortured.
I’m not good at guessing the dates of scars, but I can tell they’re old and were never properly treated when they were fresh wounds. His one arm of sleeved tattoos goes across his shoulder and a full shoulder plate on his back completes the sleeve.
I watch as he shoves his jeans to the floor, and bite down on my lip to keep from whimpering when I’m once again on the verge of being a woman. But then I see worse scars there.
The scars on his legs look like a lot of burn marks…as though he was caught in a fire—or set on fire once. The burn marks go up to his thigh on his left side, but on his right, they stop at his knee.
Violent scars mar the flesh there, and no hair is able to grow over the various red and pale patches of poorly healed tissue.
He glances over his shoulder to find me staring, and I look up, locking eyes on his. His lips twitch.
“Not so desperate to fuck me anymore, are you?” he drawls lazily, but the hard look in his eyes says he’s anything but amused.
“Actually, I sort of want you more.”
His expression goes blank, giving nothing away. Pale blue eyes study me intently for a moment longer before my eyes drop to his boxers and my mouth twists in a very eager grin.
He’s totally turned on, if that erection of his says anything. The tip of his cock is sticking up above his boxers just enough to have me pressing my thighs together.
When I lick my lips, he clears his throat and jerks the covers back. The bed dips when he presses a knee to it and climbs in.
Just as I scoot over to be closer to him, two hands grab my shoulders, and I’m shoved back forcefully. I blink, looking to see Axle is glaring at me.
“What?” I ask, wondering why he’s keeping his body on the bed instead of coming down on top of me while he holds my shoulders. “You need an engraved invitation or something? ‘Maya’s hungry, talented vagina cordially invites your big penis to come stay the night.’ How’s that work for you?”
I can’t be less subtle than I’ve been.
His eyebrows go up, and a ghost of a smile toys with the edges of his lips as he shakes his head. “Stay on your side of the bed.”
He releases me, and I huff in frustration when he turns his back to me and shuts off the lamp beside the bed, submerging us into darkness.
I’m sure there’s no way I can go to sleep, but that lasts for about five seconds before I close my eyes and get lost in some of the best sleep I’ve had in years.
CHAPTER 12
AXLE
Want to know the definition of hell?
Waking up with a mostly naked girl right next to you for seven straight days, and refusing to fuck her, because you don’t know what her angle is.
Maya loves to sleep in just my damn T-shirt, even though we’ve already collected her clothes. In fact, her clothes have essentially taken over my room. I bought several damn temporary, pop-up closets to confine her multitude of things.
She’s invaded my bathroom, my room, my bed, and my motherfucking mind, and it took less than a week to accomplish all of the above.